


End of the Line

by sunlian



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect 3 - Fandom, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Gen, Major Character Injury, Shepard Twins, Twin Shepards, Unhappy Ending, custom Shepard - Freeform, these are my fav ocs and tbh?? they deserve better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 10:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12910134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlian/pseuds/sunlian
Summary: At the end of the world, at the top of Citadel, two weary soldiers try to take a break.





	End of the Line

**Author's Note:**

> For bipolyjack on tumblr, who sent in the prompt! This fic features my shep twins, who I’ll probably post more about here later, but you can find out more about em if u like on my tungl (sunlian.tumblr.com)

“It’s a nice view, isn’t it?”

A breathless laugh ghosts past Donny’s bloodied mouth, as he lets his shoulders slump and his body rest back against the control panel.

“I suppose it is,” he replies, eyes coming coming in and out of focus as he struggles to stay awake, the sharp pains of his various gashes and burns faded to dull, throbbing aches.

Earth. His homeworld but not his home. Burning but still beautiful, in the way that only viewing a planet from the stars can be.  
Lights from main guns, fighter squadrons and Reapers flash, lighting up the infinite black frequently. Chunks of ruined starships burn and streak across his vision.

Not a bad view at all.  
A wheezy, broken laugh breaks him from his hazy revelry.

“Y-you,” a deep intake of breath, shaky and pained, despite the obvious effort to mask it, “you suppose?”

Donny doesn’t have the energy to smile properly, so his lips twitch and his head falls to the side so he can look at his sister.  
“Yeah. Could be better.”  
He pretends to not see how the lights of Dany’s scars flicker when huffs but nods.

It had to end like this, the two of them, up here, bloodied and beaten. The both of them too stubborn to know when to quit, to know when to stop, and yet, he supposes, too selfless and self-sacrificing to allow anyone else to follow them into the fire.

Beside him, Dany shifts and groans, shuffling closer to him. His tries to do the same but his legs hurt the most; evening dragging them make his ruined muscles and flesh shriek in agony. Eventually, his shoulder bumps hers and she stops, and Donny glances at her.

She doesn’t look good. Her lip is spilt in about 3 places, her hair is matted and stuck to her face by drying blood. He spies how burnt and wrecked her armour is, and the smell of properly burnt flesh assails him.

Her nose is busted too, thick blood dripping down past her lips and off her chin, but he doesn’t think the old joke would go down well right now.

The twins sit in a silence that feels so much longer than it was, the only sounds being that of the battle waging outside, distant and muffled, and their own laboured breathing. At some point, the blood that was sliding down the side of his face slows.

“Got any plans for,” Dany begins before pausing, nodding towards the open expanse of space before them, the world burning below them, “after all this?”

After. He hadn’t thought of that. He didn’t intend to die in this war, but he knew it was possibility, and so he chose to focus on the day by day.  
Now, the end was in sight, and he had the little ragtag family that was the crew, and he had the best damn shuttle pilot in the galaxy waiting for him and-  
And every breath was effort. Every blink was him forcing his eyes to open again.

“Dunno. Retire. Move into that apartment properly. Buy a nice skycar,” He hears himself say, but he’s not sure if he truly believes it, “I think I can guess, but what about you?”

He doesn’t get an answer. Dany’s eyes slide shut and her head falls forward a bit, whatever reply she had dying on her tongue. Fear grips Donny, cutting through the fuzzy ache and exhaustion.

“Hey, hey stay with me,” he mutters, quietly desperate, the fear alleviating slightly as his sisters head jerks up again, “we’re nearly finished. We’re nearly home.”

Dany’s head falls onto his shoulder, and he lets his own rest atop it. A deep sigh escapes her, but at least she’s still breathing.

“Donny?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His lips switch into a another small smile.  
“Love you too, sis.”  
Dany’s shoulders slump, and the weight on his shoulder and side increases. The ragged breathing gently stops, so softly he nearly doesn’t notice.  
Nearly.

“Dany?”

Her head rests on his shoulder still, eyes closed. The harsh orange light of her cybernetic scarring extinguished. Blood trickles from her various wounds, slowed by congealing and clotting.

Gone. Again.

It doesn’t hurt, not like the first time. Maybe it’s the blood loss, or the knowledge that at least she didn’t die alone this time. Perhaps it’s the fact that he’s probably going to follow right after her. His turns his head towards the stars, vaguely aware of the gash in his side starting to bleed again.  
It wouldn’t be long now, and Donny takes grim comfort in that. Maybe it’s selfish; the last Shepard sitting back to die, but he doesn’t have the life left in him to care.

_“Commander!”_

It’s never that simple.

_“It’s not working. The Crucible’s not firing.”_

Of course it isn’t. Why wouldn’t ever be that simple?  
Donny winces, forcing himself forwards, ignoring the heavy thud as he moves away. He tries to force his legs to move; he can’t feel his right one and his left leg only spasms in pain. His grits his teeth, tapping at his all but fried comm.

“What- what do you ne-“

_“It’s gotta be something on your end.”_

Hackett can’t hear him. Donny can only hear the admiral because of the unique set up of his comm, always linked to Dany’s, a stupidly complicated hardware upgrade that made sure they got the same information in the field.  
Hackett barks, panicked and irritated, and in that moment Donny hates him. Demanding the impossible from a dead woman, the same woman the galaxy had already bled dry. The harsh orders echo in his ears as he drags himself forward. He can’t stand. He can’t see the control panel. He doesn’t see any blinking or blaring. He can’t reach it. He can’t-  
His head his the ground, hard.

  
—————

  
The Catalyst lectures him even as he struggles to stand.

If he’s being honest, Donny isn’t paying attention. Something about choices, cycles, fire? He doesn’t care. He can see the Crucible laid before him, but he’s really only focused on the right side; the red tinged tubes that, when destroyed, will destroy the Reapers for good. How, he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter how, not when the Reapers have taken billions from their cycle, and trillions, probably more, from cycles past. The other options that the Catalyst drones out are meaningless; a result that ends with living Reapers is an insult to every living soul, suffering under their terror. An insult to every dead one, too, lives stolen for some AIs ancient and flawed directive.

He won’t survive the fallout. He knows he won’t. It’s unfair, to his friends, to Steve, but he can’t bring himself to care.  
Donny Shepard will make the Crucible fire, and then he’ll see his sister again.

But first, he has to get up.

He forces his arms to push him up again, forcing his torso off the ground. It hurts, in every conceivable way, deep set pains and sharper cuts stinging, aching all together. His back screams in agony, but he grits his teeth and tries to force his legs to move. When the muscles twitch, he nearly bites his tongue off in his attempt to hold back a scream of pain; his legs simply refuse to work.

With a groan, he drags himself forward, frantically looking for a railing, anything to help him stand. If he gets on his feet he can make it, he’ll make himself make it, he knows it, he just needs to stand, or get onto his knees, just anything other than crawling on the ground.

The Catalyst watches, impassive, staring at his back as his struggles. Ethereal bastard. It needs him to make a choice, and yet is willing to watch him bleed out, clawing his way to a choice he’s already made but can’t enact.  
He just needs help up. It’s all he needs, just a leg up-

Donny shouts, half in pain, half in anger, and all in desperation. Black dots flicker at the edge of vision, just as he reaches the ramp up. God, how is he supposed to haul himself up a ramp?

He pushes himself again, the black dots growing larger as the pain blooms again, and he’s sure he shouts and screams the entire time, but he manages to get onto his knees, forcing himself forward as he does so. He thinks going to be sick, and his lungs ache and burn at the effort.

He’s at the top of the ramp now, the menacing red glass pipes blurry, taunting him from the edge of his vision.

He needs help. He wants help. He can’t this on his own. He doesn’t want to.

He wants his sister back. More than anything. It would be so much easier. It’s not fair. 

It’s not fair when his first shot misses.

It’s not fair when the first explosion doesn’t trigger the Crucible, nor the second one, or the third.

It’s not fair when the fourth one doesn’t kill him.

And when he awakens in a smoking ruin, surrounded by rubble, to the sound of bustling medics and shouting soldiers, Donny Shepard can’t help but think that’s unfair too.


End file.
